


Personal Assistance

by by_no_one_more_than_me (Lady_Cleo)



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: Cold Weather, F/M, Frank Reagan is just yummy, dancing around romance, take a chance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/by_no_one_more_than_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Reagan has a problem. He has a temporary PA that is proving a delightful distraction... because even Police Commissioners need a cuddle when it gets cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Frank Reagan was in trouble. His new assistant was unlike the whip-thin competents he usually saw. She had the curvaceous softness of a classic pinup, a Renaissance painting come to life. Her clothes had the look of quality with edge, and suited her perfectly. She seemed to prefer knee length wrap dresses and skirts and simple outfits, though never pants, as though she'd emerged from some other time when a woman in slacks would cause heart attacks.

The only note he had was her ever-present heels were almost too tall (though she never tripped or slipped and walked with barely a sound) and her skirts hung exactly one inch outside the boundary of workplace propriety. Never a traditional suit, it was rather a well-structured blazer over a tailored blouse, and a snug skirt made of a stretchy matte material. Dancer's clothes and workout gear came to mind whenever he saw it: the kind of fabric designed to move with the wearer and highlight certain aspects. He almost felt like he should mention it or maybe ask her to wear something more conservative. But he didn't want her to feel self-conscious, or admit he'd been noticing (as it probably wasn't the intention of a girl better suited to date Jamie than an aging commish), and when he really admitted it, there was nothing untoward in her appearance or behaviour.

She was good at her job, filling Baker's role admirably given no previous experience working with him. Rapidly attuned to his moods and tastes in a way that seemed inborn, as though she'd been taking care of him for years, she was proving a delight… of unexpected depths. The conversations they'd shared over coffee or takeout lunches made him smile; she refused to talk politics and never offered opinions on how to do his job (she claimed it was because he already knew how, which flattered him yet left him curious about her true feelings) yet the range of topics on which she had proved a knowledgeable and adept conversationalist was staggering in someone so young. There were several things about her that he'd noticed without noticing.

Like the fact that in the 2 weeks she'd been attending him, she'd worn three coats always seeming to depend more on weather than mood. It had been November 8th on her first day of duty, and as any true New Yorker knew, November was the rent you paid for city life the rest of the year. The extreme chill in the air the day she'd walked in had prompted a nubby wool button down in a stunning peacock blue that did not quite match but still highlighted the deep cerulean of her eyes. A classically cut tan trench was the norm for rainy days- a look straight out of _Casablanca_ , although there was no way a girl that young would know. Hell, his parents had gone to see the film during its original theatrical run; that fact alone served to highlight the stark contrast in their ages like a police beacon on a search chopper.

And the third, quite possibly his favorite, was the one she wore on "warmer" days when the temperature stayed in the balmy double digits: a cream colored cashmere and wool peacoat that gave her a slightly angelic air. Although Frank had decided she bore that subtle heavenly stamp no matter what. There wasn't really time to waste speculating or pondering the implications of anything too deeply anyway; in a few days Baker would return and Mara would move on to her next assignment.

But now it was the end of a very long day, closing in on dinnertime, and Frank wanted nothing more than to put the day behind him. 3 separate bomb scares, including one involving Nikki's school, had commanded most of the day. All things had been resolved without incident, but an edict to NIP all calls (restricting access except to necessary involved personnel) had somehow included his daughter Erin's call for reassurance and his son Danny's calls of on-scene updates. When bringing in a file and an outline for a press conference after the second call had come in, she'd given his shoulder a brief squeeze of encouraging support before stepping back out.

Right about now, two fingers of Irish neat with a water back- no. A plate of steaming fettuccine Alfredo and a glass of Merlot sounded like a cure for what ailed him... and he couldn't shake the thought that a spot of pleasant company could make the proposition that much sweeter. The prospect of an empty house held no charm, since the family was scattered until tomorrow. No one waiting around the table tonight but Pop, and he had got a bowling tournament in the Bronx- which would no doubt turn into beers in the Bowery. So Danelli's it was- just as soon as he got out of here.

He took his time packing his briefcase, smoothing every non-existent wrinkle from his overcoat and the silk scarf Erin had given him for his birthday, lingering. Just in case. Because she was still at her desk, finishing paperwork and organizing her desk for the morning, and if he timed it just right, he could escort her to the elevator. And if they talked as they walked out, so much the better. Because if he asked her to dinner, he would be admitting things. On the other hand, if she brought up being hungry, he would just be a nice boss.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a really long day and Mara wanted nothing more than to kick off her heels and curl up with a hot meal and a good book. Actually, _any_ food was sounding better and better at this point, since in the hectic madness of the afternoon, she'd missed lunch and had long since burned off the PowerBar she kept in her handbag. But she wasn't sure if she should leave yet. The PC was rambling around in his office, almost like he was... lingering. Normally the first to burst when the day's work was done so he could get to his family, she wondered at the odd delay and how to handle her own exodus from the office.

Quickly packing her things and switching off the desk light, she decided she'd just let him know she was leaving. Her hand was a fraction of an inch from the polished maple when the door swung fully open and she instead collided with expensive wool and rich paisley and a surprisingly solid chest. "Oh! Commissioner, I am so-" Realizing her hand was still resting over his heart, she quickly snatched it back and put a stranglehold on the strap of her carryall before launching into an oddly frenetic monologue. "Uh, I was just... getting ready to go and I wanted to let you know so you didn't wonder where I was if you wanted me- _needed_ me, for anything. At all. And... I'm rambling because it's been such a long day, so I'm going to just-"

"Then I can walk you out?" The break-in statement caught her off guard as much as her sudden inability to form a coherent sentence. _Lord, stomach eating brain; I_ _must be hungrier than I thought,_ Mara mused as she blinked a few times and nodded, gathering her coat and her wits about her more firmly as the PC secured his sanctum and gestured her out ahead of him.

* * *

She fought to keep her smile under control as they strode to the elevator bank, now smoothly conversing about their day. Waiting patiently for the car, she tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear as the topic suddenly slid to food. The Mayor's Charity Thanksgiving was in a few weeks: a posh party with catered delicacies and an impressive guest list to raise money for free dinners of more traditional fare set up at five inner city shelters the following day. The expected spike in donations would mean additional meals and more hands to serve, and after proofing and filing press releases she could now recite in her sleep, she knew the Mayor hoped to crack double digits in the number of facilities benefiting from the outreach program this year.

But all the talk of food, especially the current debate over marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes versus pie as acceptable final courses, was beginning to take a toll as Mara felt her smile begin to tighten and her mouth start to water. _Where on earth was that elevator?_ Discomfort apparently flashed in her features, because the PC apologized for the culinary course of conversation, citing his own famished state as a mitigating factor. "Lunch just seems like it was hours ago. Well, you had the same day I did; you must be hungry too. Right?" Everything about his manner and delivery was casual, almost off-hand- except the way his eyes flicked to catch her expression before fixing back on the still unmoving floor indicator above the doors.

Mara opened her mouth to answer in the negative when her stomach jumped the gun and issued a mortifyingly loud rumble. Her eyes went wide and she felt a wash of heat as she blushed to the roots of her hair, willing herself to melt into the floor rather than have to look up into the surely shocked eyes of her temporary employer.

"Mara?" That rich baritone of his broke into her thoughts and she squeezed her eyes shut for a second before drawing a shaky breath and peering up. He was watching with a decidedly mixed expression: concern warring with a glint of amusement in those whiskey orbs. She had been trying to place his eye color for almost a week until she'd gone for a drink at Peter McManus, and nearly dropped her Jameson neat. Definitely whiskey, the good kind that went down smooth- an appropriate finishing touch on a man a girl could get drunk on just from staring too long. Which she was doing right now, and oh dear, what was that he was saying?

"Are you all right?" He repeated, seeming to realize she had missed the query the first time. Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded and went back to studying the swirls in the carpet, hoping to unlock the secret to being absorbed by the fibers. She also hoped that the incident would be swiftly forgotten as the elevator **finally** arrived, chrome doors sliding open with a muted _whoosh_ to admit them. But they stood in silence, Frank staring into the middle distance, Mara wondering why he hadn't pressed the button to deliver them to the lobby.

When he spoke (after pursing his mouth for a moment and giving a small nod, as she'd seen him do in conference) his tone was calm but decisive, as though he was stating the conclusion to a series of deliberations. "I think you know Danelli's in Brooklyn, but if you don't, you should. Now they hold a table for me a few nights a week, and tonight's special so happens to be fettuccine with this amazing mushroom cream Alfredo- just the sort of good filling meal one craves in cold weather. I'm hungry and we've established that you are in a similar state. It will just be business as usual in the morning, but tonight, since neither of us probably wants to face an empty house right now," he turned towards her with his closing, "would you care to join me?"

Thinking about the implications of this would be far too messy and require more energy than she could muster without sustenance. The simple fact was he was asking her to dinner, and not only was she starving but she _really_ wanted to say yes, so with a smile she no longer tried to contain, she replied with a hearty, "Yes sir. I'd love to." He smiled back as he firmly pushed the **L** and the car began its descent to street level.

The doors they now regarded slid open once more, but there was no immediate move to exit. She sensed he was waiting for something again, so she patiently paused at his side until he spoke.

"Mara?"

"Sir?"

"Just one other thing."

"Anything, sir."

He turned to face her, the full intensity of that intoxicating gaze hitting her straight on. "Tonight, please, call me Frank."

 _Oh._ Slightly parted lips drew a breath before stretching into a winsome grin. "I think I can manage that." And off they went into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are more chapters on the way, both already completed and in the works. if there are suggestions, let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the phone was ringing off the hook but crime in the Big Apple seemed like it might be taking a mini-break for once- which was great because Frank Reagan was having a hell of a time keeping his mind on his work.

Try as he might to focus on statistics sheets, press releases and the 249 memos and emails from Garrett somehow all marked "Urgent", a pair of uniquely blue eyes kept shimmering into the middle of his pages. Despite knowing the stack of work he had to plow through to call the day even a nominal success, all he could seem to do was get lost in remembering the night before.

_He had switched his light off and was preparing to just let her know he was leaving when they'd had a collision in the now darkened outer office. While he was pondering when she had switched from her normal apple scent to that gentle sunflower, he'd cottoned on to the fortuitous circumstances being presented, and had succeeded in escorting her out._

_Once her uncustomary fluster resolved itself, they had chatted easily at the elevator bank, where he had managed to turn the conversation to the Mayor's upcoming Thanksgiving benefit. Still weighing whether asking her to be his escort would be wise, he'd broken off to see if she was hungry. She was on the verge of demurring when her stomach had answered for her. Even knowing she was probably mortified, he had found himself enchanted by the sight of her blushing, like a rose bursting into bloom._

_Smoothing over the momentary embarrassment, he had enticed her to join him for dinner and the evening had gone decidedly well. Good food, great company, and a series of little moments that had laced the evening with pleasurable enjoyment. Over shared appetizers, they had conversed about wine and the Yankees, and she'd raved about the main course. He'd known she was smart and kind and fun, but he was liking all the new facets one discovered in a social setting. Such as that giggle she'd let out at the waiter's over-effusive charm and attentiveness, as though she had no clue how truly striking she was._

_Her laugh suited her; he wondered if she knew. Not a high-pitched hyena call of hilarity, or a nervous titter that set one's teeth on edge, or a loud blast that demanded attention. It was a throaty chuckle with a hint of breathless quality, low and enticing and-_

A quick knock on the half open door preceded Mara's head popping into view. "Sir you wanted a reminder about lunch with your daughter?"

Frank shook himself out of his recollections like a soggy St. Bernard and filled in, "Barking Dog Tavern?"

She smiled and continued. "Downtown, at noon. Your driver will be here in 10 minutes." As she made to retreat back to her desk, he beckoned her inside to talk as he gathered his things to go. "Was there something else, Commissioner?"

"Oh just... one thing." When the idea had occurred to him during his mid-morning musings, he hadn't been able to decide if he'd actually _do_ it- but now the words were out of his mouth before he could weigh all the potential pros and cons of the prank. "There's a word in the final draft of my press statement for this afternoon I'm not sure about." Unable to quite meet her eye, he busied himself with situating his scarf just so as he spoke. "It doesn't quite seem to fit, and I wasn't sure if it was even spelled right. I realize no one's gonna know that but me but I'd rather have it right, you know?"

Looking up to catch the flash of confusion that sparked in her eyes, Frank held his breath. But his PA simply gave a nod and whipped out a notepad and pen. "Of course. What was it?"

"Bor-boryg-mus," he enunciated. "Not sure if it's m-u-s or m-a-s, but spelling is secondary to its fitting appropriately in the sentence, anyway. Unless you're already familiar with it?" Recalling her fondness for crosswords, he wasn't sure if the jig was already up. Scribbling fast, notating a best guess at the spelling, Mara finished with a small shake of her head. "Borborygmus? Don't think I know that one, Sir."

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze, lips curving into a dazzling smile of challenge that left him breathless. "But I promise I'll have an answer when you return." Turning on her heel, she led the way out as Frank headed out into the city to meet Erin.

* * *

When he'd returned to the office, Mara had been away from her desk but had responded readily when he'd buzzed for her after settling in a few minutes later.

She walked in with an expression of professional detachment pinned to her face and a sheaf of papers in her hands. Depositing them on the corner of the desk, she fixed her gaze on the shelf to the right of his head and inquired if anything else was needed at that time. When he replied in the negative (in a somewhat puzzled tone), she gave a curt nod and gathered the contents of his outbox to take with her without another word. She hadn't asked after Erin or how his lunch had gone, or any of her usual checks for when he returned to the office. What had happened? Making a point to get to the bottom of it before the end of the day, he grabbed the nearest folder and got to work.

As his workload dwindled, so did his burst of productive focus, and he found himself puzzling over the change again. Taking the last few papers in the stack, he felt something catch beneath his thumbnail. At the bottom of the final press draft, he found a small green sticky note with her elegant yet easy to read handwriting.

_**Sir- Final check complete. Did not find the instance of the word you mentioned,  
but for future reference, correct spelling and definition are as follows:** _

_**Borborygmus (n.) The sound of a rumbling stomach.** _

_**Please let me know if you require anything further.** _

Oh dear. That hadn't gone the way he'd hoped at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get up what I have already transferred over, and hopefully post a new chapter to both for Valentine's.  
> from there on, I'll do simultaneous updates. thanks for sticking with me, guys.

**Author's Note:**

> so I'm transferring this over from FFN, even as I'm in the process of writing new chapters. (heads-up: the archive warning might change a little later on.)  
> hope you enjoy it, but whether you like it, love it, hate it, or just have an idea, comments are always appreciated.


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